


The Pictures Are All I Can Feel

by donniedont



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Dimidue Week 2020 (Fire Emblem), Father-Daughter Relationship, M/M, Original Character(s), Portraits, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24331561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donniedont/pseuds/donniedont
Summary: When the Molinaro-Blaiddyd family sits down for a family portrait, Dimitri realizes that there is so much he has yet to explain to his daughter.  For the Dimidue Week prompt "Family."
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35
Collections: Dimidue Week 2020





	The Pictures Are All I Can Feel

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so happy I was able to get something out for Dimidue Week! This was made possible by Joey, who let me use our girl Daphne for this fic, and Elliot, who took the time to read through this before I posted it. Thank you so much to both of you!

Dimitri entered the room, leaning against a table to have the chance to watch Dedue turn their daughter’s tangled hair into something presentable.

Dedue’s green eyes flicked toward him, smiling before he threaded his fingers through their daughter’s hair. He carefully sectioned her silver hair before he began to make smaller braids.

“Daphne, sit up,” Dedue chided her. She huffed before she straightened her posture.

“Why are we even doing a portrait?” she asked, wincing when Dedue started a new braid. 

“Because this is Uncle Ignatz’s present to commemorate your coming of age ceremony,” Dimitri replied, bringing his hand to his own hair. He stopped short, remembering that Dedue had styled his hair already. He still couldn't resist running his hand along the braid along the side of his head.

Dedue nodded, setting Daphne’s braids up into a bun toward the top of her head. Dimitri’s eyes trailed toward the nape of her neck, that was cropped close to her skin. 

Dimitri rubbed under his eye, still not quite recovered from the anxiety he dredged up from the ceremony the day before. He was honored to be a part of such an important moment, though he was ashamed to admit that he had spent several sleepless nights whispering Duscurian phrases under his breath to ensure that he could fulfill his role without a hitch.

Daphne kicked her feet, catching herself before she slammed them on the floor. 

Ignatz had asked Dedue and Dimitri several times if they were going to have someone come in to dress them, but they both refused. Dedue had a specific vision, featuring them sitting as if it was a traditional Faerghan portrait, but styled in Duscurian fineries. Dedue wanted control of these details and Dimitri gladly agreed to it. 

“I just need you to stay a little longer,” Dedue told Daphne, taking flowers from a nearby table and weaving them into her hair. She tilted her head up, looking so regal before she lowered her chin and scrunched her nose.

Someone knocked on the door, all of them turning toward it. Dimitri sighed, walking toward the door and opening it the slightest bit. He smiled when he found himself making eye contact with Hapi, opening the door wider.

“Hiya, Didi,” she chirped, waving at him. “Ignatz just wanted me to tell you that he’s ready.” She craned her neck over Dimitri’s shoulder and grinned. “Oh, Princess D, you look  _ so good _ !”

“You think so?” Daphne asked.

Dimitri shuffled to the side, Hapi walking toward Daphne. “Oh, I totally know so,” she said, “I wish your dad would braid my hair!”

“You need to ask,” Dedue replied calmly. He took one last flower, setting it into the braid before he brought his hands away rom Daphne. “Go check yourself in the mirror.”

Daphne got up, smoothing her dress before she walked toward the mirror. Her blue eyes widened, moving her head from side to side to get better angles of the work her father did. Dimitri watched, ignoring the prickle that began to develop in his eye. It felt like he had only just comprehended that his life was stable enough that he could parent, he had somehow parented a young adult. 

Dimtri turned to Dedue, noticing that he also had an awestruck expression on his face. Perhaps it was good to reiterate that there was no way Dimitri could do it alone. He had someone who was absolutely essential to make it possible.

“Whoa,” Daphne said, her eyes wide, “I don’t look like me.”

Dimitri pushed himself off the table and swooped over toward her, placing her hand on her shoulder. “Of course you do,” he said, “Though I do think you’re just not used to having half your hair in your face.”

She grumbled something he couldn't quite hear, lowering her shoulder to allow Dimitri’s hand to slide of. She had developed a habit of pulling her bangs back into a small ponytail, the style eerily similar to the style Dimitri favored during the war and into his early years as king. He considered bringing it up to her, but he knew better than to bait the wrath of a thirteen year old.

“We should get going,” Dimitri suggested. He reached his hand toward Daphne’s. She glanced at it for a brief moment before she darted toward Hapi. Hapi offered her arm and Daphne happily grabbed it, the two of them leaving the room together.

Dimitri’s waiting hand twitched, Dedue grabbing it and lacing his fingers together. He brought Dimitri’s hand to his lips, kissing it gently.

“You appear troubled,” Dedue noted.

“She never turns down my hand like that,” Dimitri whispered.

“And according to Duscurian tradition she is no longer a child,” Dedue pointed out. He kissed Dimitri’s hand a second time before he lowered it, the two of them leaving the room. “But in all seriousness, this is about the right age for her to be asking for space, my love.”

Dimitri’s brows furrowed. “But…” he started, quickly realizing that he was the one acting like the petulant child.

Dedue laughed, squeezing his hand. “She will grow out of it, I’m sure,” he said, “We grew out of it, remember?”

Dimitri shook his head. “I think that might be debatable, my beloved,” he said.

Dedue sighed. He took his free hand and drummed it again his chin. “I believe how is as good a time as any to tell you that she rolled her eyes at me two days ago,” he said, his voice soft.

“No…” Dimitri started.

“I swear to you,” Dedue replied. His face appeared unreadable, perhaps due to the distress and resignation of the situation. “I told her to clean her riding boots and she just…” He imitated it flawlessly. Dimitri laughed, unable to deny that it was a face he saw often throughout their teenage years, mostly when Felix said something ridiculous.

“What did you do about it?” Dimitri asked.

“I was so shocked I just… told her she still had to clean them even if she disagreed with me.”

“I suppose we can find comfort in the fact that she’s acting this way to both of us.” They dropped the conversation, the two of them speeding up to close the gap between themselves and Daphne and Hapi. 

They were quick enough that they reached the door as Hapi opened it, announcing, “Hey, Iggy, I got them!”

Dedue and Dimitri followed them inside, greeted by Ignatz adjusting his easel. He smiled, bowing his head before he started with, “Your Majesty…”

Dimitri’s eyebrows furrowed. He raised his hand, shaking his head. “Ignatz, need I remind you that we fought side-by-side all those years ago? There is no need for formalities.”

Ignatz jerked his head up, his glasses sliding down his nose. “Oh! I suppose you bring up a good point!” He shuffled from behind the easel, greeting each of them individually with a boyish glee that Dimitri was grateful to see. 

“Let me get you set up!” Ignatz instructed. He began to arrange them, his eyebrows knitted together as he rearranged with minute differences every time. 

It was a process that Dimitri was used to at this point. He got roped into yearly portraits, the completed project usually being sent elsewhere with little information as to why. As awkward as Dedue and Daphne were in following Ignatz’s careful directions, he was grateful that whatever the end result would be, he would have it displayed in their private quarters.

Ignatz brought his hand under his chin, humming to himself. “I think I’m going to have to put you two into chairs and have Daphne stand.” He grabbed two chairs that were set at the side and positioned them accordingly, Dimitri being forced into the fancier of the two much to his dismay. Dedue appeared unbothered, allowing Ignatz to position his hands in a way that clasped Dimitri’s while also showing off their wedding bands. 

Dimitri knew by now to not get in the way of an artist’s vision. He never had the aptitude for such a thing, so he remained quiet, hoping that Daphne was not pulling faces behind him as Ignatz kept adjusting her. Ignatz backed away, his eyes scanning the scene. “All right,” he said. He reached out and adjusted the collar of Dimitri’s shirt. “All right,” he repeated, adjusting their hands one more time. “Let’s get started!” he announced, making his way over toward the stool.

Ignatz took his pencil and began lightly sketching against the canvas. He glanced up periodically, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose before his brow furrowed and he resumed sketching.

“Can we talk at all?” Daphne asked.

Dimitri glanced at Dedue and swallowed down a gasp when Dedue rolled his eyes.

Ignatz laughed. “Sure,” he said, “But I need you to keep the pose.”

“Okay,” Daphne said. 

Everyone was quiet for a long moment, the sound of pencil scratching against canvas consuming the room. Hapi seemed content to stay with them, laid out on a nearby sofa and flipping through books that were artfully displayed. It was difficult resisting laughing as she flipped through the pages, stuck out her tongue, and slammed it shut before moving onto another one.

“Hey, Dad?” Daphne asked.

“Yes, my love,” Dimitri replied.

“Did you have to do these a lot when you were a kid?”

“Oh, quite a bit,” Dimitri admitted, “Far more than you’ve been forced to.” He kept his tone light, hoping that she wouldn’t pry.

“Why haven’t I seen any of them?” she asked.

Dimitri promptly squeezed Dedue’s hand. Dedue hissed, quickly silencing himself to focus on running his thumb against Dimitri’s. 

Ignatz paused his sketching, keeping his eyes on the canvas even though his lips were pressed together. Hapi shut another book, saying, “Hey, Princess D…”

Dimitri tried to shake his head without throwing his styling out of place. “Most of them have been lost to time, I’m afraid,” he said. Daphne huffed, but dropped the conversation. Ignatz resumed sketching, Hapi returned to her book, and the tension in the air let up as quickly as it arrived.

It wasn’t that Dimitri lied to Daphne. He made an attempt to locate them early in his reign, but never had much of an answer for many of them. With most of the ones he could find featuring him dressed in whatever fineries his father ordered him to wear, he was torn between destroying them for selfish reasons and preserving them out of respect to the artists. Most of them were tossed into storage, no one questioning their existence.

Dimitri felt a tightness in his chest. He hated withholding information from his daughter, but trying to explain any of this to Daphne was a terrifying prospect. Even if Dedue and he taught her that people like them existed, having some form of a visual would make her see him differently.

The conversations seemed unceremoniously snuffed after that. Ignatz appeared grateful for it, trading his stiff pencil strokes for the flourished layer of paint with his collection of brushes. The most disruptive moment was Hapi eventually getting too bored with combing through books, saying that she would see them later, even after Daphne tried to ask her to stay.

Dimitri himself found his mind wandering toward strainge, shadowy places, Dedue tugging on his hand at just the right time before he found himself tipping into a fog that would take him awhile to get out of. Even after years of what others called progress, there were still parts of him that would always be able to be consumed by the darker corners of his mind. At least he had Dedue around to make sure it didn’t happen.

Ignatz placed the paint brush on the easel, placing his hands on his hips. “I think I’m done,” he announced, “But I want your feedback.”

“Is it okay if we move?” Daphne asked.

“Of course!” Ignatz exclaimed. The three of them joined him behind the easel, all of them quiet as they studied the painting.

Ignatz chose a style that was expressive, using thick brush strokes that weren’t rendered as much as most of the other portraits Dimitri was forced to sit through. Even then, Ignatz appeared to choose to depict Dedue and Dimitri with a frown. At least he could read the shine in their eyes as pride. He considered asking Ignatz about it, biting the inside of his lip. 

He quickly decided against it. It wasn’t like he had asked Ignatz to depict either of them as jubilant, but perhaps there wasn’t much that could be done. Ignatz never lingered at the capital long enough to see how softened their edges had become after over a decade of fatherhood.

He finally dragged his gaze away from Dedue and his faces, grateful to see that Daphne was painted with an obvious smirk on her face. Perhaps that was the point. The older generation dismantled some of the more toxic structures in their culture for the younger generation to walk through the world with the reckless abandon they deserved.

“Oh, huh,” Daphne murmured.

Dedue nodded, though Dimitri wasn’t certain exactly why.

“I think you’ve rendered us speechless, Ignatz,” Dimitri whispered. He smiled as Ignatz’s cheeks turned bright pink.

*

Dimitri rushed to his office immediately after the portrait was completed. He locked the door, searching the room until he located a rectangular shaped frame that was hidden under a yellowed sheet.

He took a deep breath, removing the beautifully embroidered jacket before he tossed it over the back of the chair. He slowly walked toward the frame, staring at the wrinkles in the sheet. He took a deep breath, yanking it off and sitting on the floor, staring up at it.

It was strange staring at a painting of himself from when he was eleven for a variety of reasons. He wondered if the records were overturned enough that people wouldn’t realize it was him, choosing to speculate that there was a Blaiddyd daughter that didn’t survive one of the many tragedies that befell the family name.

He took a deep breath before he attempted to fish pins out of his hair. He turned to the other person in the portrait, his breathing hitched, his hand unable to grip one of the pins when he made eye contact with the depiction of his stepmother.

He was still stunned that he was able to locate the painting. He found it early in his reign, shoved in a closet with random items. He shoved it in a new corner instead, hidden until there are times he felt comfortable enough to look at it.

He heard someone knock on the door and he huffed. He considered covering the painting again, deciding against it when he realized that he wasn’t done looking at it quite yet. He shuffled up, stretching out his lower back before he walked toward the door, opening it a crack.

He looked down and found himself staring at Daphne. Her hair was still pulled back, but the flowers were removed. She had already changed into her riding outfit, looking like she was ready to get to her wyvern as soon as she could.

“What is it, dear one?” Dimitri asked.

“Papa didn’t know where you were, so I offered to find you,” she said.

“Does he need me?” Dimitri asked.

“I dunno,” she replied, “I think he’s doing that thing again where he needs to know where we are at all times.” She shrugged, poking her head under his arm as if she would get a better sight into the office.

“Are you planning on going out for a ride?” he asked.

“Just a little one,” she said, “I don’t want the baby to get mad at me, because I didn’t let her leave the stable for a day.”

Dimitri wasn’t certain when a large, white wyvern still constituted as a baby, but he resisted. Perhaps it came from the same place that looked at his twelve year old daughter and still thought she was one, as well.

“Just make sure you return in time for supper,” he reminded her, “It’s in Ignatz’s honor for taking the time to paint us.”

“I know, I know,” she said.

Dimitri stared at her for a long moment. She stood up straight, tilting her head. 

“What’s up?” she asked.

Dimitri brought his hand to the back of his neck. He took a deep breath, shaking his head. “I just… did you actually want to see a painting from when I was a child?”

She nodded her head. “Yeah,” she said, “Why?”

Dimitri gripped the doorknob, tossing the door open out of fear of breaking the doorknob. “I have one in here.”

“Wait, seriously?” she asked, “You had one in your office the whole time?” she asked.

“I kept it hidden,” Dimitri admitted, “It is sometimes a bit too painful to look at.” He gestured toward it, taking a seat on his desk chair as Daphne sat in front of the painting, her eyes wide as she brought her knees under her chin. 

“That’s  _ you _ ?” Daphne asked, pointing at the blond with bright blue eyes and a blue dress with fur embellishments.

“That is me, yes,” Dimitri confirmed.

“And who’s this?” she asked.

Dimitri willed himself to look at his stepmother. Though her dress was Blaiddyd blue, she was styled like the Adrestian noble she was meant to be, complete with her hair pulled back in a crisp bun and her dress carefully pleated with gold embellishments. 

“That’s my stepmother,” he answered.

“Oh… I think Hapi mentioned her,” Daphne said.

“What did she say?” Dimitri asked.

Daphne shrugged. “Oh, I mean… just, like. ‘Hey, I knew your dad’s stepmom’ type stuff,” she explained, “What was she like?”

Dimitri pressed his lips together. He desperately combed through his memories, hoping that he could find something, anything that could ground what he was able to say. He got tangled in the threads, trying to allow the memories of a parental figure coexist with the uncomfortable truth of her political loyalties.

Though perhaps he could understand them better now. Since Daphne’s birth he would have the occasional late night he would play what if, asking himself what he would do if he was separated from Daphne. Dark thoughts made his blood turn cold. He clenched his hands until his nails were leaving crescent moon shapes in his palms.

He turned to Daphne, who was thankfully still staring at the painting. 

“She was my mother,” he replied, his voice stiff, “There wasn’t a distance between the two of us like some step parents and step children. I was not aware that I was a boy for most of it, so she taught me how to do certain things. Though I cannot say I was any good at most of it.”

Daphne sighed. “Your crest would activate?” she asked.

He nodded. “Something I know you are familiar with.”

Daphne pressed her lips together. “Yeah,” she admitted. 

“But she wasn’t cruel about it,” he added, “She raised me similar to how your father and I raised you. That there is right and wrong and it is your duty, whatever you choose, to fight for what’s right.”

Daphne hummed. “She looks sad,” she noted, “Or… serious? I don’t know.”

Dimitri studied her face, his jaw setting uncomfortably tight. There was a frown on her lips, but a determination in her eyes. He thought about how Ignatz chose to depict him in the painting and he promptly brought his hand to his jaw. He rubbed at his jaw, trying to prevent it from being painfully clenched.

“She was a sad person,” he confessed, “She was holding onto some… very difficult emotions. Much like your father does. Much like I do.”

She turned toward him. Even with the concern obvious across her face, it was hard to deny how bright her eyes were. He brushed his own eye, unprepared for the tear that began to form. 

“Oh, don’t cry,” Daphne said, shuffling closer to him. “I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about this if it makes you sad!”

Dimitri felt a wave of emotions swell up, both his eyes tearing up. He yanked his eyepatch off, covering his face and holding his breath, trying to resist sobbing.

“Oh… ah… oh no,” Daphne hissed. She hummed to herself nervously before she said, “Do you want me to get Papa? I can do that. Or a… uh…” 

Dimitri looked up, watching his daughter jump up, fishing a handkerchief out of her pocket. Dedue had made it for her years back, complete with her initials and some small flowers framing it. 

Dimitri smiled, taking it from her before he dabbed at his eyes. “My apologies, dear one, you should not have to see me like this.”

Daphne shrugged. “No offense, Dad, but you cry a lot,” she pointed out.

Dimitri looked up, immediately glaring at her. “That is not true,” he snapped.

Daphne smirked. “You cried at my coming of age ceremony…” she noted, putting up a finger.

“That was reasonable,” he defended.

“...That time I fell off a horse…” She raised a second finger.

“I was worried that you were gravely injured!” 

“...Oh, can’t forget that one time I was just standing in the throne room and you just started sobbing.” She laughed, raising a third finger before she sat down on the floor against his legs. “Anyway, you cry a lot.”

Dimitri sniffed, smiling at her. “Fine,” he said, “You might be onto something.” He tried to take a deep breath, wincing over how wet it sounded. He glanced at the painting and saw the small smile that graced the lips of his eleven year old self and he felt a surge of unshed tears form in the corners of his eyes. “I just dread the day people refuse to paint you with a smile.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyebrow furrowed.

“My apologies. That was a half-formed thought,” he said. He reached out, tempted to cup her face in his hands. He lowered them, reminding himself of the hand holding incident from that morning. “I want to make sure that you never struggle so much that people question your happiness. Or think that you are some stoic wall of a person.” 

Daphne slowly nodded her head. She looked like she was on the verge of a response, the two of them disturbed by footsteps.

They both looked up and saw Dedue standing in the doorway. He appeared to be in casual clothes, his hair wavy from the braids in his hair earlier.

“There you are,” he said, his shoulders lowering before he entered the room. He turned to the portrait and he took a deep breath before he joined them, leaning against the desk. “Daphne, you were supposed to bring him back,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, sorry…” Daphne started. She scrambled up, brushing off her riding pants. “Dad was giving me advice.” 

“She was patiently listening to my ramblings,” Dimitri amended.

Dedue sighed. “Well, if you want to go out for a ride, you should get going.” 

Daphne checked the window. “Oh no!” she exclaimed. “I’ll be back!” she exclaimed. She charged toward the door, stopping short before she turned around, tossing her arms awkwardly around Dedue and Dimitri before she charged toward the door.

“You must have had a good conversation if she hugged us,” Dedue noted.

“Oh, I don’t know how much of a conversation it is when you cry and your daughter give you her handkerchief,” Dimitri muttered. He tried to fold it to as small of a square as possible.

Dedue slid off the desk and leaned in, bringing his hand against Dimitri’s cheek before he pulled him close to kiss his cheek. “I think the fact that she stayed with you and tried to help speaks to the kindness we tried to instill her with.”

“Perhaps,” Dimitri said. He unfolded the handkerchief again, waving it like a flag. “I need to clean this,” he muttered.

“I think that would be the polite thing to do, yes,” Dedue replied. He kissed Dimitri’s cheek again and paused, his body pressed close as he was quiet for a long moment. “You showed her the portrait.”

Dimitri nodded. “It felt like the right time,” he said. He slid off the chair, yanking the sheet and covering the painting again. 

“How did she respond?” Dedue asked. He sat in the chair, leaning back.

Dimitri shrugged. “She was curious about… Patricia.” He never quite knew what name to use for her anymore. But it was the one that he knew and the one that seemed to coexist with the name Hapi knew her by. He put the portrait away and sighed. “I kept it vague,” he added. “It didn’t feel right to go into all that. Not without some the right preparation.” 

“But you wish to someday?” Dedue asked.

“Yes,” Dimitri replied. He put the painting away before he walked toward Dedue, sitting in his lap. Dedue brought his arms around him, tipping him off his feet before he held Dimitri closer. 

Dimitri brought his arms around Dedue’s neck. 

“It sounds like you handled it well,” Dedue said, “Far better than when she refused to hold your hand earlier today.”

Dimitri pulled away to glare at him, eventually bringing himself close to Dedue again. He felt the corners of his eyes prickle again and he pressed his face against Dedue’s chest. “She is growing up on us. How could this happen?” he asked, even if he was muffled.

“Time passed. There are worse things,” Dedue pointed out. He hummed gently before he added, “And we are not leaving her anytime soon, so there is no need to fear it.”

Dimitri took a deep breath, grateful for the sound of Dedue’s heartbeat. He embraced the moment of silence, well aware that it was not going to last.

  
  



End file.
